


Smudge

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, Obsessive-Compulsive, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time I met Captain Phasma, I made a fool of myself. In front of an audience, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smudge

The first time I met Captain Phasma, I made a fool of myself. In front of an audience, no less. It was during a scheduled maintenance of one of the larger hangar bay doors. I was elbow deep in hydraulic fluid, shoulder deep in the secondary access panel, and things were not going my way.

“Shoddy, shifty layabouts!” I exclaimed, talking mostly to the solidly fused power coupling. “I swear, when I get my hands.... oh no, those stupid, stupid...!” My tendency to talk to my work wasn't normally an issue in a noisy place like Starkiller Base. But when recalcitrant machinery acted out I could get a little bit loud. Some idiot had hooked up the polarity wrong and the whole busbar had melted into a solid chunk around the terminals! I mean, really! It was going to take me half a day to put this right!

“Not good enough,” came a stromtrooper's voice from behind me.

I'd been talking out loud again. I wasn't really thinking so I answered back. “Yeah, well you try cleaning up a sticky T-86! Once the damn alloy core goes, it gets everywhere! I'm going to have to put in a whole new power converter!” I yanked my arms out of the panel and wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. I looked at my hands in dismay, realising too late that they were covered in hydraulic gunk. “Hand me that driver, would you?” I said absently. I was already calculating the moves ahead, which parts I would need to remove to get access to the coupling and in what order. I put my hand out and flapped it in the direction of my tool kit. “The one with the red handle.”

The handle smacked into my palm a moment later, and I felt the brush of cold steel around it. I turned around, finally, and then looked up. Ulp. I drew myself up straight in a flash. “Captain Phasma,” I stammered. “I beg your pardon. I'll get it done as fast as I can.”

She curled my hand around the handle of the driver using both of hers. I was surprised by how warm her palms were after the shock of brushing against her armour. “See that you do,” she said, inclining her head slightly, as if she was weighing me up. It was hard to tell what she was thinking behind that helmet.

They said you had one chance with Phasma. One mistake was all it took. Although I wasn't one of her stormtroopers, and not technically in her chain of command, they said she wielded power far beyond her station. I wasn't about to mess with that. Not after the stories I'd heard. People disappearing, or worse, coming back different. Hollow.

She swished away, but hadn't gone two steps before she turned back to me. I was still standing rigidly at attention. She gathered up the corner of her cloak as it settled around her and drew it across my forehead, once, twice. She stepped back. “Well,” she said. “At least it's even, now.”

Then she was gone, the squad of troopers following her too disciplined to even snicker in my direction.

I spent the rest of the day changing the power coupling. It took longer than I expected because I had to keep looking over my shoulder. Although I desperately didn't want to give Phasma a reason to come back and interrogate me about my lack of progress, I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was supervising groups of troopers all over the hangar bay. I sneaked peeks when I could. She stepped in regularly to demonstrate techniques to them, but she never touched them any more than was necessary. Not like she'd touched me.

I had a crush like you wouldn't believe. I told myself to stop being so foolish. Phasma liked order, neatness. My smudgy forehead was like a picture hung askew. She was just a huge obsessive nerd and had definitely not gone out of her way to lay her big strong hands on me.

By the end of the day my coveralls were more stain than fabric and my shoulders were screaming from torquing bolts in cramped corners. I needed a shower, food, and a bunk, all of them for preference hot.

I jilled off in the shower. We didn't have much privacy, but I was so ready for it, it barely took any time at all. I had my knee braced against the side of the stall and slid two fingers inside me, and then I came as soon as I touched my clit. I couldn't stop myself from whining a little. It was a good one. A head popped around the side of the stall to see what was going on, but thankfully it was a friendly face.

“Thought that was you,” said Kris. “Rough day?”

Kris was a maintenance tech who mostly did expert systems and droid programming, but she could crack open a mechanical relay when she had to, so she was all right by me. Our shifts lined up more often than not, and we were from similar backgrounds: poor-but-smart street kids taken up by the Order. We'd had a quick tumble, once, but we worked way better as friends and we both knew it. She totally had a thing for droids. Or so I kept telling her. “You have no idea,” I said, a satisfied grin on my face. “Did you eat already?”

“Oh, hey, I'm flattered, but I'm not that type of girl...” 

I threw my washcloth at her and it caught her right in face. “Slippery grease-monkey!” she told me.

“Cranky droid-diddler!” I told her right back.

I checked my stained clothing in with the automat droid and it spat out a clean set of coveralls. I missed making my own fashion choices a little, but three squares a day was a hard deal to beat where I was from. Besides, I filled out a one-piece pretty well. It was all about how tight you could go without showing the toe.

I slipped my arm around Kris's waist as we wandered the corridors. We chatted as we made our way to the mess. On a base this size it ran at all hours. I told her about the power coupling, and making a fool of myself in front of Captain Phasma, but I carefully left out the parts about my silly adolescent crush. Kris looked at me, and brushed my fringe aside to check my forehead, then burst out laughing. When we got to the mess and had to settle down. It was loud, but raucous behaviour was frowned upon and I'd already had my run in with authority for the day.

We loaded our trays with food. It was surprisingly palatable, nothing fancy, just tasty and filling. The First Order didn't stint on creature comforts if you did your job well. I actually couldn't think of anyone who wasn't good at their job, apart from whichever schutta-loving nerf-faced bantha-turd didn't know her hot terminal from her ground. We were definitely well-motivated and, I don't know, there just weren't any lazy free-loaders looking for an easy time. I guess they picked their people well. It made me kind of proud to think about that.

I was into my pudding when Captain Phasma walked by, spoon in my mouth and lips pursed. I hadn't even been looking for her, although it was common knowledge that she dined with her troopers instead of in the officers' mess. My eyes went wide, then wider when she stopped and put her tray down next to Kris's. She was really, really tall. And really, really pretty.

Her short blonde hair was so practical but it really suited her. Her cheek twitched as she looked me over. She probably had more muscles in that cheek than I had in my whole arm. She was such a beefcake. Her Captain's uniform fit her like a glove, and the red sash she wore with it... my stomach was doing flip-flops. I pressed my knees together under the table to stop them knocking.

I thought for a moment we were going to be such great pals, the three of us, before Phasma yawned and said she had work in the morning, and did I need to be walked home...?

But she just dipped her napkin in her water glass, and then wiped it across my forehead. I froze solid, but my cheeks were burning. She leaned right over the table, put her huge, hot hand on my shoulder, and took another pass at it. Her frowning, gorgeous kisser was right front of me, and I just wanted to plant one on her lips. She rubbed hard at my forehead and I would have let her rub me raw as long as she kept touching me like she was.

“Better,” she muttered, the hint of a smile on her lips. Then she finally looked me in the eyes, and I thought she was about to say something else, but she didn't. The mask dropped onto her face again, just as impenetrable as her silver helmet, and she picked up her tray and left.

I sat there, my cheeks burning, until Kris eased the spoon out of my mouth. I snapped out of it and grabbed her by the lapels of her coveralls. “Why didn't you tell me I still had grease on my face?” I hissed at her.

“You didn't!” she whispered back. “I swear, there wasn't anything there when I looked! You were fresh as a daisy!”

My eyes went wide as the implications sank in. Did Phasma like me? Surely I wasn't the only grease-stained mech-tech she'd ever come across? I realised that everyone around was ignoring us so hard, their cutlery wasn't even tinkling. I let go of Kris and took my spoon back from her.

Kris, bless her, launched into an animated blow-by-blow account of giving an oil bath to her favourite T3 unit. Conversation at nearby tables gradually resumed. I let Kris babble on, feigning interest, as I tried to recall every detail of Phasma's face during our little incident. Had she winked at me? Or sent me some other message? Code in the little dabs at my hairline?

Her nose was really cute when her forehead got wrinkled up with concentration. And had... had the tip of her tongue been poking out of the side of her mouth?

I had some serious thinking to do, the kind that you do in your underwear. I made interested noises until Kris wound up her story and then made to split. 

“What's the hurry, Smudge?” Kris asked me.

I knew the nickname would stick, but right then I had other things on my mind. “Early night. Work tomorrow. Insert lame excuse here?”

“If you were a droid, I'd fit you with a restraining bolt,” she said, head to one side.

“If I were a droid, we'd still be an item,” I told her with a devilish grin.

I had a spring in my step as I navigated the hallways to my bunk. I shared the room with three others on the same shift, all from different parts of the technical service. My rack was a decent size, but there wasn't a lot of privacy to be had. We had a sort of unspoken agreement, the hour right before lights-out was fair game if we needed a little hands-on time to ourselves. We all knew to play music on our headsets or find another distraction if we weren't up for listening to some enthusiastic self-abuse.

We had very few personal belongings in the First Order. They expected us to leave most things behind when we joined up. So my rack was undecorated, and my clothes were all uniforms, but that was OK. Stuff related to my job, on the other hand, was tolerated, although it would have been blatantly obvious to anyone with technical know-how that the device I kept in my footlocker wasn't a better mouse-trap. I'd cobbled it together out of leftover parts, and like any tool you make yourself, I was inordinately proud of it.

I squeezed my thighs together a little as I quick-stepped along the corridors. I started to calculate just how many times I could get myself off before bedtime with the aid of my home-brew vibe. The best part was the soft little suction cup that fit neatly over my clit and...

Phasma was standing in the middle of my room, her back to me. She heard me arrive and turned. I nearly fell over backwards, the way she loomed even from a couple of paces away. The space between racks looked too small to contain her broad shoulders. My roomies were not in evidence, but my vibrator was gracing Phasma's meaty palm.

She looked at me for a long moment. Her eyes were the cold, merciless blue of frozen ice. “This is unseemly,” she said. I stumbled back against the wall as she marched out, my vibe clenched tight in her fist. I heard the servos whine and give up against her iron grip as she went by.

She was terrifying, but so sexy with it. I felt weak at the knees and warm all over. Had I just avoided a one-way ticket to the re-education station? My footlocker had been opened and searched, but nothing else was missing. What did she mean, 'unseemly'? And how was I going to get her to squeeze me with those amazing hands until I popped? 

If I had to go, that's the way I would have picked. Dammit, she had no right to barge into my life and turn it upside-down. I'd been perfectly happy just doing my job well. Feeling like I was part of some great project was enough for me, even if I was the smallest of cogs in the machine. Now I was too hyper to sit down, I was burning up. I stripped my coverall down to my waist.

I caught sight of myself in the small mirror above the washbasin, and I had an idea so delicious I felt it in my stomach like a lead weight. I figured if I stopped to think it through, my courage would evaporate with the adrenaline rush. So it was now or never. I made my preparations quickly and left.

I trotted along the corridors to the officers' quarters, my nerves jangling. As I turned the final corner and saw the troopers standing guard outside the entrance, the last of my adrenal high left me. The idiocy of what I was about to do hit me hard in between the eyes. 

I wanted to turn tail and run and forget all about it. But it was too late. Nobody of my rank was supposed to come down here unless they were on official business. If I turned back now the guards would chase me down and start asking me uncomfortable questions in uncomfortable ways.

So I presented myself to them and stood at attention like we'd been taught. “Technician TN-2578 here to see Captain Phasma. She's expecting me.”

“Name?” asked the trooper.

“Smudge,” I told him. In case she didn't recognise my serial.

The guards stood there for a long minute, doing nothing. I was about to ask them a dumb question and totally lose all my perky panache when one of them beat his chest with his fist, and the other one turned on his heel.

I worked out that I was supposed to follow him inside just in time to avoid looking like a hopeless noob. He escorted me along corridors that looked very much like the rest of the base. I figured they must keep all the really fancy stuff tucked away inside their quarters. With any luck, I was about to find out.

The trooper led me to a door and keyed the panel for entry, which was granted immediately. Then he stood aside to let me enter first. My heart thundered in my chest as I caught sight of her. She was still in her uniform, although she had lost the sash and her jacket hung open. She was polishing a piece of her armor, and she didn't stop or otherwise acknowledge me.

“Leave us, JD-2623,” she said, absently. The trooper saluted her and the door slid shut behind me.

Phasma's quarters were ascetic. I couldn't see anything personal in there at all. I stood there, hands behind my back, waiting for her to look at me.

“Did you come for your toy back?” Phasma asked me. Her voice was perfectly controlled, and I knew I had to tread carefully. I should be bold, but not arrogant.

I thought carefully before responding. “You can keep it.”

Phasma turned over the armour in her hand and began polishing the inside surface. The part that nobody would ever see... I wondered if I'd massively underestimated what an obsessive perfectionist nerd she was? In which case, my plan would back-fire horribly any second now. “I wonder,” she said, still not looking at me, “are you very brave? Or very stupid?”

Well, there was no going back, so I pressed on. “I came to ask for your help, Captain,” I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

That didn't seem to be the answer she was expecting. She put down her armor and polishing cloth and turned in her seat to look me over. The glimmering of a knowing smile played across her lips, but was quickly extinguished as her eyes locked onto my nose. Her cheek twitched ominously. 

Phasma stood up and I did my best to hold my ground without shrinking away from her. I looked up at her defiantly as she towered over me, standing far too close for comfort. “You are infuriating,” she breathed softly. “Just infuriating.” She gripped the back of my neck with one of her huge hands and gathered the sleeve of her uniform jacket in the other. Then she went to town on the dab of grease I'd deliberately smeared on the tip of my nose. She wasn't gentle, and I had to blink back tears. But she was so strong. If my knees gave way, I'd just dangle in her grip.

“Sorry, Captain,” I said. I gestured expansively with my hands out to the sides. “I don't know why it keeps happening.”

As I had intended, my waving hands caught her eye and she saw my filthy palms. Her eyes widened. If her expression had been intense before, now it was borderline psychotic. I think she stopped breathing, she was so angry. She released my neck and grabbed my wrists in her hands, her eyes flashing between them, as if she was trying to decide which was dirtier.

Then she marched me over to the corner of her quarters, to the washbasin. “You know what this is?” she asked, locking eyes with me in the mirror.

“Soap, Captain, ma'am,” I replied.

Perhaps I was laying it on a bit thick, but Phasma was too focused to notice. “Show me,” she said. I got the feeling this was my last chance.

I wet my hands and began to scrub with the bar of soap. Phasma stood behind me, watching over my shoulder like a hawk. Grease takes a while to come out of all the little wrinkles in your skin, even when you have a decently abrasive soap. While I was scrubbing I tried to subtly stick out my best asset a little. My coverall was nice and tight as I bent over the basin.

Phasma showed no sign of interest in my butt. Her gaze caught on something else. She yanked me back by the collar and inspected the scruff of my neck. Then she spun me around and with a couple of brief tugs, shucked my coverall down to my hips, not caring a damn about my soapy hands.

I was naked underneath. My hands were tangled in fabric behind me, so I pretended as if I was standing at attention for inspection. I'd left dirty greasy handprints in strategic locations. The back of my neck. My shoulders, where she'd rested her hand so heavily in the mess. Around my waist, where I wanted her to hold me tight and never let go. Cupping each breast, an invitation.

Phasma stared at me, her cheek twitching. Her anger was tempered with confusion, perhaps even curiosity. She untangled my hands for me and finished stripping me down. I was unresisting. Now it was her choice. I fervently hoped that I had read the signals correctly. She took in the greasy marks on my thighs. She walked around me and saw the spread-finger prints I'd left on my buttocks and I heard her make a small sound at the back of her throat. It didn't sound conscious. My heart leapt with hope.

“Dirty, filthy girl,” she whispered into my ear, bending down.

Then she had me over her shoulder in a flash, as if I weighed no more than an empty sack. The heat of her was incredible. A fool grin plastered itself on my face and I couldn't fight it off any more than I could resist her strength.

She tossed me around like a doll until I was arranged to her satisfaction. Both my hands were held behind me, gathered up in one of hers, gripped firmly and inescapably. Phasma was sitting in her chair in front of her half-finished polishing. And I was bent over her knee, rocking on her muscular thigh.

The first few spanks were a treat. Phasma's heavy hand thundered into my cheeks, stinging shockingly and making me grind into her. With every stroke, my legs would twitch and my feet would leave the ground, so that my whole weight rested on my crotch. My tits dangled and jiggled helplessly. It was a huge rush.

“Stop squirming,” Phasma told me. I could feel her chest rising and falling next to me. I did my best to hold still to take my punishment. She rubbed at my ass with her hand. Warmth spread across my cheeks, but there wasn't much pain to speak of. I was a little bit high, in fact, excited.

The second round was a harder to take. After a few strokes it started feeling too intense. Each spank sent an electric jolt of pleasure straight to my pussy, but then the pain crept up on me. The pleasure was swamped by the sharp stings. It felt like my ass was getting a bad bruising, and that made me tense up, which made it worse. Tears came to my eyes and I let them trickle down my cheeks in silence. I felt bloated and hot all over.

“Tougher than you look,” commented Phasma, after the second set was over. I swelled with pride, although my ass was burning. I was soaking wet too, but when I started to realise that humping Phasma's leg distracted me from the pain, she shook me and told me “no” in such a firm voice, I nearly came.

The third set broke me. I took the first four or five spanks with gritted teeth and then I couldn't hold back any more. First I wailed in pain, then I screamed, and finally I gave up and blubbed quietly, snot and drool and tears dripping off my face. Phasma showed me no mercy, she didn't soften her strokes one iota. She was panting, but it could hardly have been with the effort.

I was barely aware of the transition from being spanked to being fingerfucked. Her fingers slid into me effortlessly, drawing pleasure from my core even as the pain bloomed across me in waves. My hips tried to rock back to let her go deeper, but she controlled me effortlessly, making me squirm to her timetable, never quite giving me enough stimulation to let me come.

I was totally lost to sensation. “Is this what you wanted?” Phasma asked. I couldn't respond. When her thumb pressed onto my asshole, it was too much. An orgasm like I'd never had overwhelmed me, not masking the stinging of my buttocks but riding on the feeling, flipping it from pain into intense satisfaction. My muscles clenched around her fingers as I came and came.

When she slipped her thick fingers out of me I missed them immediately. She struck me across the ass one last time, and I slipped into another rapid-fire orgasm, coughing up spit with the shock of it.

She let me ride it out and then stood me up. She supported me when I wasn't capable of standing on my own. She let me sink to my knees gently. Using her polishing cloth, she wiped the worst of the snot and tears from my face. I caught her hand in my trembling grip and rested my hot cheek in her palm. Through my blurry eyes I saw something like contentment on her face.

Phasma helped me to her private shower cubicle. She stripped off her clothes and joined me. She was such an impressive specimen. And I found that her hands could be gentle, too. As she lathered up a handful of soap and rubbed my ass clean, I moaned in pain shot through with renewed desire. All I wanted to do was drop to my knees and worship her every curve and every muscle with my tongue. But I was too drained from my ordeal. My legs could barely keep me up. 

She took me to her bed, nearly carrying me there. I lay on my side, trying to think cooling thoughts. My ass burned. And then she joined me, curling her body around mine, so that I couldn't move even if I wanted to.

Heaven.

When I woke up I was naked and alone. Phasma was already gone and so was her armor. My ass was tender and my pussy was instantly wet when I thought about what had happened the night before.

I found a fresh coverall laid out for me. Everything else in her quarters was spotless and in perfect order. I washed my face in her washbasin, then pulled on the coverall. It was a size tighter than I usually took. My stinging buttocks complained as the heavy fabric compressed them. Every step would be an ordeal, today. But it would be worth it, as a reminder.

Before I stepped out, I found her tin of polish, and left a greasy handprint on her pillow.


End file.
